What I’ve come to understand (slowly, reluctantly, and with the emotional elegance of a rabid possum trapped inside a Panera) is that I f...

There is cold, and then there is New-York-waiting-for-the-above-ground-N-train-in-deepest-February cold.   Ah yes! Welcome back you vicious...

June is the month when books begin to breathe again. After the frantic ambitions of spring and before the scorched lethargy of high summer, ...

In January, I was convinced—for the twenty-sixth time in two years—that I was absolutely, for real, not-a-joke-this-time, quitting show busi...

Each May, the world is reborn— its hues sharp, the air narcotic with growth.    I like to turn to books that speak — in their vastly differe...

Joy. - New growth in my potted plants - A perfectly smooth duvet on a perfectly made bed - [The rush of love I feel] watching Tati l...

- Blossoms, noted - Long days [ of soft, Impressionist-painting-like ] light, noted - The heart-crushing need to control my pandemic experie...

The Quiet. - The slow closing up of the world… - The Quiet. The beautiful, terrifying Quiet. - Pink blossoms in full bloom on the co...

- Waiting impatiently for my new prescription medication, promising to bring such relief, which came nearly 4 days later than anticipated be...

After a long, frigid, blizzard-filled, not-one-but-two-colds , not-one-but-two-round-of-antibiotics , snowmageddon snowpocalypsed w...